My life is a freaking circus all the time!
by elaiel
Summary: Clint goes undercover on his own in a circus for SHIELD. Tony doesn't think this is a good idea and follows him in. This is a bunch of snippets from a story idea I had and partially drafted but never finished. I've decided to post them as ficlets. I occasionally go back and add to this. This takes place in some random universe somewhere after the events of Iron Man 3.
1. Undercover, no, really

Summary:

Clint was not expecting this to be a joint undercover operation.

* * *

"Ray!"

The familiar voice echoed across the site and Clint had to stifle his urge to either groan or become very annoyed.

"Ray, look, I'm sorry."

Clint turned.

Okay, the voice was familiar, but the figure sloping across the grass towards him was not. It took him a moment to realise it was Stark. He was wearing a frankly hideous pair of boardshorts patterned in magenta, fluorescent yellow and black, battered grey sandals, a white t shirt with a shark on the front and a grey hoodie which appeared to have been taken apart and reconstructed inside out was hanging off his shoulder.

The head full of waist length ratty dreads and the left arm fully covered in purple geometric pattern tattoo from the wrist up were also somewhat startling.

Stark walked up to him, a pleading look on his face. "Look Ray, I'm sorry, I fucked up again, I know, but it didn't mean you had to leave..."

Facing Stark, his back to Stanhope, Clint rolled his eyes.

"Look, I know I do some stupid stuff when I get...uh...drunk, but I promise, I've quit smoking...uh yeah, drinking..."

"Who's your friend?" Stanhope asked pointedly.

"Oh yeah," Stark said looking at Stanhope over Clint's shoulder, "I'm Dan, I'm Ray's...uh...friend." His eyes flicked back to Clint's and he gave an awkward grin.

"You complete tosser." Clint mouthed at him.

"Look, I know they're a bad influence on, me, I didn't mean to lose another job but..."

"I can't keep looking out for you anymore." Clint said irritatedly. "I don't need to be taking care of you as well as myself."

"I'm sorry, really, look, don't send me away, I'll come too, be away from the guys, stop...getting drunk...I can be useful."

Clint heard Stanhope chuckling behind him. "Explains what you were moving on from." He said.

Clint snorted.

"Look," Tony said earnestly, "I'm a mechanic, I can fix anything with an engine, do the electrics too."

"Can't keep a fucking job though can you." Clint added. "Not if it means having to get up in the mornings and actually _going in to work._ "

"Don't make me leave." Stark pleaded.

"I don't have anywhere for _you_ to stay." Stanhope said.

"I brought the van." Stark added quickly. "And your trailer for your bike..."

Clint stepped back and to the side, letting Stark and Stanhope face each other.

"I'm Dan," Stark introduced himself, "Dan Vandeusen."

"Ray's boyfriend." Stanhope said.

"Well...yeah." Stark looked uncomfortably down at his feet.

"You're a mechanic?"

"Yeah. Diesel mechanic, but I can do automotive too if needed, and electronics, I've got a commercial driver's license too,"

"Welding?"

"Arc and oxy if you've got the kit or can get it."

"He'd have been earning a mint if he wasn't such a lazy stoner shit." Clint muttered. He looked up. "Dan can't keep his hands out of anything mechanical."

Stanhope gave them a look. "I can find both of you work, if _you_ can keep your nose out of the weed." He said pointedly to Stark.

"Ray?" Stark said in a wheedling voice looking at Clint.

"Oh for fuck's sake. Yes, you can stay."


	2. Certified one hundred percent organic

Summary:

"Can you even surf?" Clint asked him.  
"Of course." Stark snorted.

* * *

Parked some way away from the circus' vehicles and tents, the van was an original classic VW Camper van, small and perfectly in keeping with Stark's "look". It was in immaculate condition, with original blue and white paint colours and shiny chrome. There was a large storage box on the front of the roof and another on the back. Attached to the back of it was indeed a trailer with space for his bike to be tied down, a large storage box and two surfboards in cases attached to a rack.

"The roof goes up for more sleeping space, one of us can sleep up there and there's an awning extension. There's a generator, a solar panel and my mechanics tools in the cases, and a little porta-potty I'm hoping we don't have to use, and some other gear. Will it do?" Stark asked him.

Clint gave him a sidelong look. Stark seemed almost uncertain.

"Till we can get something bigger, it'll be fine." Clint said. "Glad to see you brought _my_ trailer."

"Would I leave you riding in the rain when we can drive in comfort?"

Clint snorted. Whilst Stark's love of comfort was notorious, he doubted the seats in the ancient camper were particularly comfortable.

"Can you even surf?" Clint asked him.

"Of course." Stark snorted.

"I can." Clint added.

"I know, 'Tasha helped with the cover finding something that would work for both of us."

"Where'd the tattoo come from?" Clint asked.

"Something that Bruce and Jarvis cooked up." Stark said.

Clint hadn't spent as much time as Tasha working with Stark, but he was pretty sure Stark was not telling the truth, or maybe not the whole truth about that.

"It's actually in the skin and it won't wash off, it'll stay till I take the "antidote", then it breaks down."

That was a lie. Clint was certain. But he wasn't sure why.

"Steve did the artwork." Tony continued, running his fingers over it. "I kinda like it, even if purple is the only available colour at the moment. But it means I _can't_ be Tony doesn't it?"

"I like it." Clint said.

"'Tasha said you would."

"So where's Tony?"

"Recovering from open heart surgery of course." Stark said. "Rebuilding a hole in my chest, bones and all. Could take me out for weeks, but it's now guaranteed I'll get over it so it won't significantly hit the stock prices. Could take longer if I'm slow in recovering from it. Jarvis is being 'me' giving phone and videocast meetings from my sickbed with the Board if needed."

"You well enough for this?" Clint asked him pointedly.

"Information about my surgery may have exaggerated the extent of the work." Tony said. "And I'm pretty certain the people I can get in and fix me are using techniques way beyond what the Board and public are aware of, so yeah, I'm good now, they think I'll be out for another couple of months. And I'm out of the whole public arena, it's a good break and Captain America has volunteered to stand in for my public appearances so the public aren't disappointed. It's doubled the rate of ticket purchases to the latest Stark charity fundraising gala."

"I bet Steve loves that."

Stark grinned. "Well, he said he guessed he had to take one for the team. And Pepper's overjoyed, Steve is apparently a _really_ good dancer."

Clint gave him a long look as Stark took a couple of keys off his keyring, handing them to Clint.

"So what does Pepper think about this?" He asked.

"Well," Tony said with an easy, fake, smile, "you must have heard we had a kinda rough few days."

"You could say that." Clint deadpanned.

"Yeah, well, Pepper needs a bit of a break. We're good, really good, but she needs time not to be worried and to uh, get over what happened to her."

"So you're undercover?"

"So I'm somewhere where I can't go running off in the suit, I can't be up all hours in the lab, I can't act out, I'm under constant scrutiny by you and Hill." Tony shrugged. "Yeah, Pepper's fine."

"You think _you_ can do this, _Dan?_ " Clint asked as he unlocked the side door of the van. "Be Dan, Ray's _boyfriend_ convincingly for as long as it takes?"

"Not straight in the first place." Stark said, sliding past him to sit on the back seat of the van. "And 'Tasha said you had done it undercover before with..." He stopped.

"With Coulson." Clint finished.

"Yeah," Stark said barrelling on. "So I was pretty certain you could fake it."

"And what does Pepper think?"

"Pepper's good." Tony said. "Pepper is practical. She had a long chat with Natasha and Hill, got JARVIS to hack your medical records to make sure you were clean, then told me to do what I needed to do to do this. Then told me any sleeping round on you and she'd set Natasha on me."

Clint was surprised.

"I love Pepper and Pepper loves me, but I've got no illusions, I'm hard work, sometimes Pepper needs a break. This way she's not worrying about me. It's not what happens around me she worries about, it's the stuff I do, here, I can't do anything." Tony shrugged. "And she likes you. She rates 'Tasha's opinions."

There was silence before Clint spoke.

"First of all, don't bother lacing your boots unless you're doing something heavy like tent raising." Clint told him. "And you never ever wear boots in the caravan, it gets mucky fast. Take 'em off and kick them under the van, or put them on the mat inside."

Tony nodded.

"Some of the people here are Romany, I don't know all the rules but they've got rules about washing and eating. If we're gonna fit in, you can't wash yourself in the same bowl we wash plates in, they have separate bowls for washing plates, clothes and people." Clint added. "Elsewise they wouldn't want to accept coffee or dinner from us and we need to mingle." He shrugged. "Makes sense as well, don't wanna wash your ass or socks in the bowl you wash cups in."

Tony grinned then realisation dawned on his face. "We're going to wash our clothes by hand?"

Clint nodded. "When we can't get to a laundrette, so you need to go shopping. Hit Walmart." Clint advised him. "Make sure they're different colours too. We'll need two water carriers too."

"Anything else?" Tony asked.

"Don't put anything dirty down on eating surfaces. Food only. We'll have lap trays for food only."

Tony gave him a funny look.

"It's a really crowded space. You have to be clean and tidy. It's really hard to keep things clean otherwise."

"But it's not muddy here."

"No." Clint said. "It's dusty and sandy, which is almost worse. It'll get in everything."

Tony nodded.

"So is the van stocked? What food did you bring?"

"I don't know," Tony said, "Bruce packed it all."

"Did you pack any of this?"

"No, no-one would let me, except for the tools and the surfboards."

Clint snorted.

"Apparently I have no idea what people would take and in Natasha's words "it would do me good to see how the other half lived", I mean, three months in a cave, anyone?"

Clint's grin softened for a moment. "That was torture, you know, not how the other half lived."

"Huh." Tony huffed, but watched as Clint went through the food cupboards Bruce had packed. "Do you know what to do with any of this?" He asked.

"You have broken into my file haven't you?"

"I haven't read it." Tony said.

Clint looked over his shoulder and fixed him with a stare.

"I might have had Jarvis give me a potted history without any personal details."

"Hence why you're here." Clint finished. "So who do you think made dinner when I was a kid?"

"You can cook?"

"I can cook. After years of living in the circus and years of being posted to places all over the globe I can cook dinner from pretty much anything if I have to."

"So how come Bruce does all the cooking?"

"Have you tasted the food that man makes?" Clint grinned. "Seriously Dan, his food is awesome, even you recognise that."

Stark smiled, staring at the pack of dried beans in Clint's hands.

"Dan," Clint said.

It took Tony a moment to realise it was him being addressed. Not a super spy here, okay. He focused on Clint, no, Ray.

"You can do chemistry right?" Clint continued.

Tony gave him a withering look.

"And you have good hand eye coordination, and the ability to read instructions and detect changes in things you're working with?"

"Of course." Tony snapped.

"Then you can cook."

"And exactly where am I going to get instructions from?"

"You see that packet of rice," Clint threw a packet at him, "look at the back. What does it say?"

"Certified one hundred percent organic."

"Under that."

"Ingredients – 100% organic American whole grain rice."

"Stop being a cock. Under that."

"Instructions."

"There you go, practically everything has them on."

"So what's dinner?"

Clint held up a couple of eggs in his other hand. "Egg fried rice with vegetables. Cheap, filling, quick and easy." Clint said.


	3. First show

Clint's first show as a ring hand was frustrating. The crew were a mixed bunch and he was pretty certain that the stage manager was drunk. No real surprise that the gaps between acts were way beyond what he would consider acceptable.

It got halfway through the show before the stage manager tripped over a prop left on the floor and went down practically under the hooves of a horse. No-one reacted except Clint so this obviously wasn't an unusual occurrence. Clint was there as the man hit the ground though, fed up enough that as he crouched by the man, a swift concealed jab in a sensitive area had the man out cold.

"He's out cold." Clint said hauling the man up, and dragging him over to a corner.

The crew stared at him in poorly concealed panic, the young lad with the horse looking around for the performers.

"Okay, you, here." Clint told him, trying to recall the order of the show from memory. "Hold the horse here. You, Anna is it? Okay yes, give him your horse too, they aren't going anywhere and start setting up the gear for the clowns in that corner, they run straight on. Who's got an act list?"

Someone put a list of acts in his hand, unfortunately not annotated with equipment and set changes, but the boy with the horses appeared to know and Clint grabbed out a pen from a pocket and started to annotate. Things began to flow a bit better. Clint let himself drop into a routine, a combination of his knowledge of how this should look and experience running field ops, channelling Coulson and Steve for all he was worth.

He almost didn't realise it when the show was over, it was only as he watched the performers stream out past him to take a bow that he realised Stark was next to him with a cup of coffee and a cheese bagel.

"You're done." Stark offered.

"Where have you been?"

"Fixing a deep fat fryer before the hungry crowds come streaming out seeking unhealthy snacks." Stark said.

Clint gave him another look over the rim of his mug. Stark looked pretty much like he usually did when working, until you realised that the black streak on his cheek was carbonised doughnut batter and the grease from where he had rubbed his face smelled like it would give you a heart attack just from inhaling the aroma of fried food.

"Adrian's looking for you."

Clint quirked an eyebrow, mouth full of bagel.

"He's impressed with how the show went, and Little Fuzzy Dave..."

Clint gave him a blank look.

"…dark curly hair, teens, works with the riders." Stark explained. Clint nodded, the boy with the horses earlier. Stark continued. "Anyway, Fuzzy Dave told him you'd taken over, and I think you're gonna get a bonus." He grinned at Clint. "Ever fancied being stage manager?"


	4. Not your tame kitty cat

Tony found it a little odd watching Barton in the circus, like seeing your pet cat in the wild, a familiar animal acting in an unfamiliar way, but one that was still completely true to its nature. On missions Clint was all professionalism and hyper focus with only the occasional snarky comment. In the tower – when you saw him - he was so laid back he was practically horizontal, a perpetual comedian with a penchant for involved practical jokes, which often involved him leaving a room over the furniture at speed or even on a notable occasion out of a high floor window to Bruce's horror.

Here he was a different beast, a wary half tamed creature, alert and sharp. He was polite and friendly, but defended his position with a ready violence that had shocked Tony when a straggling punter had accused them of being "faggots" as they went back to the van. Tony had been exhausted and aching from a ten hour stint fixing a ride in time for the gates opening, followed by an emergency set of repairs to a generator, which had taken the best part of the evening on his back in the mud. Clint had practically had to carry him back, stiff and cold.

Almost at the van they had turned a corner and nearly walked into the man and his friend. The man had launched into the "fucking faggots" for not watching where they were going, following on with a tirade of homophobic abuse. Clint's response had been swift and brutal leaving the man's companion to carry him off.

Tony had leaned against the corner of a truck. He was more than capable of defending himself in this kind of situation, even without the suit. The basic self defense Rhodey had drummed into him, for when the alcohol overrode his always poor brain-to-mouth-filter at university, had never entirely left him and Steve had been emphatic on Tony spending time training unarmed, whether he liked it or not. Clint's response to the drunk however had been over and done before Tony even had a chance to react and Tony had found himself scooped up and carried back to the van.

Back at the van, Clint had been bizarrely focused again, rinsing his bloody hands clean, before boiling water for them both to wash, finding clean dry clothes for Tony, changing his own shirt, and filling a hot water bottle to warm the bed before finally appearing to collapse, sat slumped on the end of the bed. Tony finished washing himself and struggled into the soft cotton pants and t-shirt Clint had left out.

When he finished, Clint was in bed already, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"You okay?" Tony asked.

Clint did not appear to hear him.

"Hey?" Tony touched Clint's shoulder.

Clint started, staring at Tony, then relaxed.

"Yeah, I'm okay." He said. "Get in." Clint twitched the covers back.

Tony slid in next to him. The bed was warm and smelled heavily of laundry detergent. It was hard to wash it out completely when hand washing.

Clint rolled over, facing the side of the van. Tony thought he would pull away, but Clint scooted back a little, so whilst he was not looking at Tony, his back was pressed up against him.

Tony lay back in bed trying to think of things to distract Clint, to bring him down to normal, something that would remind him of life at the tower but would fit with the Circus life or could be concealed. Nothing sprang to mind. Clint sighed and pulled up the covers, but Tony could feel he was still tense. Tony turned the idea over in his head for a while before pulling the woefully out of date Starkphone he had brought with him out from under his pillow and sending a text to a burner phone.

It took all of an hour and a half for the quiet knock on his window to sound, a familiar rhythm gently tapped out. They were both still awake and Clint was suddenly alert and tense behind him. Ignoring Clint, Tony reached out and slid the window open quietly. Natasha slipped silently in. Tony sat up so she could move across behind him and snuggle in with Clint then closed the window. He lay back down and scooted up so that this time his back was warmly, but not threateningly, pressed against Natasha's.

"I knew you couldn't be far away." Tony murmured.

Natasha gave a quiet huff of laughter. "One second," she murmured. "Scoot back."

Tony moved back for a moment and Natasha tensed momentarily then rolled, flipping Clint into the centre of the bed. Tony rolled back in to bracket his other side, wrapping an arm over Clint and resting it on Natasha's hip.

"Watch your hands Dan!" She muttered.

"Would I do a thing like that?" Tony's voice was equally quiet.

"Not if you value your manhood."

Tony heard Clint chuckle and finally he relaxed.


	5. Memories

The small tin was battered and dented, with little of the original enameled surface left through the rust patches, just enough to show it had originally contained peppermint candy. Inside were a few small items, a plaited friendship bracelet, frayed and snapped; an arrowhead chipped from stone; a silver dollar; a single earring with a purple stone; two coloured marbles; a playing card with a hole punched through it; a photo of two small boys, one barely toddling, the other holding him up.

The last item was a tiny notepad with HAPPY BIRTHDAY CLINT written on the front in wobbly childish capitals. It had been made into a flicker book of a stick-man firing an arrow, carefully drawn in blue ballpoint pen. Tony let the pages flick through revealing the simple animation. The page edges, worn soft and grubby with finger marks, slid past his thumbnail as the little man fired his arrow into a bulls-eye target that exploded.

"That's private." Clint's voice was flat.

Tony jumped. "Sorry." He said looking up at him.

He slipped the book back in the tin with the other items and held it out to Clint. Clint took it out of his hand.

"It was under the pillow." Tony said.

"I was looking at it last night."

Tony paused a moment. "Which are you?"

Clint tilted his head.

"Which of the two boys in the photo are you?"

There was a long pause.

"The smaller one."

Tony nodded, and despite his curiosity decided not to push it.


End file.
